


Currency

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Fights, Humor, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: As they fly on the Helicarrier back towards SHIELD's headquarters in New York, Tony and Loki need to have a serious conversation about their future. Not that it's easy to do so when they're so...distracted.Meanwhile, conventional wisdom says that, if it's after 2am, just go to sleep. Bruce is glad he stayed up.Takes place during the events of The Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

“Stop. I’m not...stop! Jesus fucking Christ, Loki, gimme a moment.” Tony pushed the other man away and sat up from the steel floor of the hangar. He rubbed his dark hair from his equally dark eyes, fighting to catch his breath.  


Loki sat up, too, his pale skin glistening in the dim emergency lighting. They hadn't dared turn on the actual overheads; as far as anyone knew, Loki was still safely ensconced in his cell and Tony was asleep in his room. Even Thor was too trusting to think his brother might not be anything more than an illusion.

Now, though, his heart racing, Loki asked, “What's wrong? You've never minded when I pull that move before.”

“And you've never tried it after trying to kill me before,” Tony retorted, rubbing the tooth marks on his upper thigh. “God, are you part shark or something?”

“Well, one of my offspring is a wolf…” He caught his beloved’s horrified expression and burst out laughing. “I jest, of course. You humans, you take everything so seriously.” He placed one long-fingered hand on Tony’s broad shoulder. “Let us try again.”

Loki's hot breath ruffled the sweaty curls at the base of Tony’s neck, and goosebumps ran up his muscular arms. With almost inhuman control he kept himself from whirling on the Asgardian and pinning him to the corrugated floor. “We need to talk about this. About us. We can't keep doing this if…” He trailed off as he tried to organize his thoughts—always a difficult task when such  _ need _ coursed in his veins.

“If I am so hell-bent on world domination?” finished Loki, smirking to hide his hurt at the rebuff. He leaned back on his knees, his trousers almost achingly tight. The physical pain sharpened his other senses. He was acutely aware of the rumble and whirr of the Helicarrier’s engines, the oily reek of lubricant from the landing gear, the thudding of Tony’s heart. He balled his fists.  


Tony crossed his legs and focused on a point somewhere in the darkness. “Loki, look, you know how I feel, but that whole grandstanding in the center of Stuttgart wasn't cool. If nothing else, it makes it that much harder to come clean about our relationship to the guys. One day, we're going to have to say something, and it'll be easier to do if you're not constantly on the opposing side.”

“But it's so deliciously illicit, is it not?” Loki grinned and leaned close. This time, Tony succumbed to the steaming press of Loki’s lips on his skin. His body hummed with desire as Loki’s tongue darted out once, twice. Unable to take any more teasing, Tony turned, hooking a leg around Loki’s waist. He cupped one angular cheek in his hand and drew the kiss to his own eager mouth. Loki met it enthusiastically, and he guided Tony back onto the rough, cool floor.

“We're having this conversation one way or another,” Tony murmured huskily, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out. 

Loki chuckled low in his throat and slid his hands down his lover’s taut abdomen to a bulge that matched his own.  _ Not tonight, we won't, _ he thought with a secret grin. Another day bought and sold with promises and lies. Hearing Tony gasp with pleasure, he decided it was worth it, even though he knew his purse might soon run dry. 

He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce’s knuckles hovered over the sliding steel door. He had no idea whether or not anyone could actually hear him if he knocked, and the since no one already had, he wondered if he was wasting his time.  _ It’s also three in the morning, or just past it _ , the Other Guy’s voice in his head grumbled.  _ Aside from the third shift crew, you’re the only moron left awake. Moron. _

He inwardly told that voice to shove it and considered his options. He could go back and try to sleep some more—in fact, he knew that was probably the best option, if only to try to reset his inner clock. Even several days after being brought to the Helicarrier by Natasha, jet lag was still kicking his ass more than any of his enemies ever had. He should just go back to his room and try to sleep.

But there was still that little biting question in the back of his head, and he’d learned not to ignore those. They might get him in trouble from time to time, but they were always, always worth asking.

If only the askee would answer the damn door.

“Everything okay?” a pleasant, if slightly nasal, voice asked.

Bruce turned his head to see Tony walking down the corridor. His unruly hair was slightly mussed, and a vintage band t-shirt (a different one from earlier) was rumpled over his muscular torso. While not as rippling a specimen as, perhaps, Steve Rogers, the inventor was still an impressive sight. Bruce swallowed hard and said, “I, uh.” 

His voice squeaked on the “uh.”

A rumble of mocking laughter thundered in his head.

Bruce closed his eyes for a long moment to gather himself. “I wanted to ask you something. You know, about what we were discussing earlier, about me coming to work for you and all, and…” He opened his eyes, and a surge of adrenaline set his veins alight. Tony was standing in front of him, not two feet away, smelling like scotch and sweat and other things that Bruce's overloaded circuits suddenly couldn't process. Curiosity sparkled in Tony's dark eyes, and a half-smile played on his shell-pink lips. Staring at them, Bruce’s vocabulary fled.

Tony smiled politely, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Yes?”

Bruce gaped.  


After a long moment, Tony stretched and shrugged. “Well, I’m about to go to sleep, so let’s put a pin in that until the morning, okay? I’ll find you.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder, in the same movement gently shoving his way past and typing the keycode to his room. The door slid open to reveal quarters more or less the same than Bruce’s own: double bed bolted to the floor, a desk that folded down from the wall, a metal locker that served as a closet. The only difference was it looked like Tony’s luggage had exploded everywhere. The shirt from earlier was a heap on the bed, jeans lay on the floor like they’d just been stepped out of, and—Bruce’s cheeks flamed at the sight—a pair of navy blue boxer briefs hung like a flag from the knob of the locker door. Tony stepped into the room and tugged at the bottom of his shirt. 

The door slid shut with a hydraulic whirr.

Bruce’s heart pounded wildly in his chest. The place on his shoulder where Tony had touched him seemed to burn, and the twelve-year-old in him screeched that he’d never wash this particular shirt again; instead, it deserved to be framed and placed on the wall with a plaque: The Shirt Tony Stark Touched. 

The Other Guy in Bruce’s brain punched the shrieking preteen repeatedly.

Woodenly, Bruce turned and started back down the hallway. Tomorrow morning. He’d talk to Tony about it in the morning. And in the meantime, there’d been that moment before the door closed but after Tony had started lifting his shirt, that tantalizing half-inch of toned flesh…

Bruce paused before his own door, his nose twitching. Booze and b.o., musk and motor oil, and... _ ice _ ?


	3. Chapter 3

The buttons slipped through the cotton blend of Bruce’s dress shirt easily to reveal the contours of his chest. Salt and pepper curls lay slightly matted on his pale skin, but he’d made his peace with them over the years. Hell, he’d even considered them sexy in his youth. Now, it seemed, the only way to get rid of them was a thrice-daily swipe of a razor...or the Other Guy. Not much of a choice there. It was easier to keep the curls.

He turned to the nightshirt on his bed as he gently shrugged off the one he was wearing--the one Tony had touched. Goosebumps sprang up as he shivered, the memory still magnificently fresh in his mind. Gingerly he folded the shirt and set it in a special section of his luggage. As soon as he made it back home, he’d mount it. Wherever home might be. He hadn’t decided yet. It didn’t matter. It’d get a place of honor.

Just as his meaty hand curled around the silk sleeve, however, the door to his room slid wide open. Bruce let out a little eep of surprise, whirling to face the intruder.

Tony barged right in. He’d changed his shirt again, this time to a well-worn and ragged Ozzy tee, and the hems of his plaid flannel pj pants brushed the floor with every step. He barely seemed to even notice Bruce standing by the bed, half-naked; instead, he paced like a caged animal. Bruce recognized the nervous energy.

He know a little something about caged animals.

Bruce grabbed his nightshirt and tugged it on over his head quickly, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could even get a word out, though, Tony ran his fingers through his mussed hair and said, “Okay, look. I changed my mind. Let’s have that conversation now, okay? Okay.”

Bruce tugged at the nightshirt, realized it was on backwards, and began to adjust it. “Um, I guess, but—”

The other man continued, “Okay, hypothetical situation I’m about to throw at you, big guy. Say you’ve got this crush. Y’know, hypothetically. You’ve got someone you really care about, right? And they seem to like you back. All signs pointing to—yup, major attraction there. And you and this person, you’ve got a good thing going. But you, maybe you want it to be more. You want to shout it from the rooftops, even. Let the whole world know that this person is your be-all, end-all, and nothing or no one else could ever satisfy you. Say you’re in this situation.”

“Um…” Bruce slid his arms properly through the sleeves, then peered at the seams sticking out at the elbows. Inside out.  _ Maybe Tony won’t notice, _ he thought. The Other Guy laughed uproariously. Frantically, Bruce debated stripping to flip the whole thing inside out. But that’d mean things like stomach and man boobs and chest hair and— 

Tony’s footsteps rattled across the rough metal floor. “But this person—same scenario here, so bear with me—this person might not be respected by others. Like, they suit you just fine, but other people? They might not understand. Especially if this person...maybe hasn’t done the nicest things historically. Like, recent-historically. Like, the other day, even. Yesterday. But they’re not  _ bad. _ They’re ambitious, which can be a good thing. I know it can be a good thing. You do, too.” Tony paused, his eyes darting to take in Bruce's flushed face. “Well, maybe not  _ always _ a good thing, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.” He resumed his pacing.

“Right. But, um…”

“So what do you do?” Tony finally stopped, his arms crossed over his chest. The industrial lighting of the room made his five o’clock shadow all the rougher. It heightened the planes of his face and the angles of his muscles. The room was suddenly too close for comfort. Warm. 

Bruce swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. Tony was staring at him expectantly, his eyes demanding an answer. Everything seemed to hinge on this one moment.

“How did you get in my room?” he blurted. The first thing to come to his mind.

“Oh, I’ve got a passcode to override all the rooms,” Tony shrugged. “So, you don’t think this hypothetical person has anything to worry about re: his criminalistic, possibly insane, lover? It’ll all be fine?”

“I, um—”

“Good.” Tony clapped his hands together, a sudden grin revealing pearly teeth. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Thanks for the talk. We can deal with your situation in the morning. I have to go take care of some stuff. Catch ya later!” He blew out the door like a dervish.

Bruce blinked slowly. Forget rational thought, even  _ normal _ thought seemed impossible in the face of Tony’s frenetic energy. His shoulder throbbed from the impact of his idol’s hand. Carefully, carefully, he began to remove the nightshirt, and he gently tucked it back into his bag. At this rate, there wouldn’t just be a memorial in his new home; there’d be an actual shrine. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Two visits in one day?” Loki asked, unfolding himself from the floor of the “boot,” the special prison cell in which Fury had tossed him. “I know you love me, but aren’t you the slightest bit concerned I might grow spoiled?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at the red light on the security camera. “I’ve only got about five minutes,” he began.

“Then we’ll need to be quick.” Loki stepped through the front of the cell, the illusion of its closed state wavering as he did so. “Though, I must ask you to have a care for my stamina in the future. I may be godlike, but even gods need to recharge themselves.” He wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, pulling him forward with a sudden jerk. His hands slid up under the vintage t-shirt to trace sinew and shoulder blades. Where their hips touched Tony could feel Loki beginning to stiffen, and that knowledge combined with the hands under his shirt sent a spark racing through his veins. Loki’s lips found his, and kissing him only fanned those flames. 

Just as his knees threatened to buckle and bring them both to the ground, Tony remembered why he’d come. He pulled away from the kiss and gasped, “Okay, I  _ really  _ need to tell you this.”

“Tell me, then,” Loki murmured huskily. He brushed kisses along Tony’s square jaw and down his neck. “Tell me whatever you think I need to hear.”

Tony shivered and swallowed hard, doing his best to ignore the hot breath on his bare skin. “I want to tell everyone about us.”

The kisses stopped. “Why?”

“Because they have a right to know. And not just them. I want to tell  _ everyone _ , the entire world, announce it on TV or whatever I need to do, that I’m taken, and not by my secretary or anything, but by  _ you.  _ Loki.”

“Really, who names their child ‘Pepper Potts’? I weep for her generation,” Loki said, clicking his tongue. 

The vibration sent another wave through Tony, and he bit his lip to maintain his resolve. “The thing is, Loki, I want to be honest. Not just with you—I’ve always been honest with you—but with everyone else. I’m sick and tired of looking over my shoulder every three seconds to see if someone’s going to notice what’s actually going on between us.”

“You regret my coming here?” He nipped at Tony’s shoulder, his teeth sinking with a little more force than might have been justified.

“Never.” Tony rested his hands on his beloved’s hips. “But I wish the circumstances had been different. Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to try to take over?”

Loki nipped again, his tongue darting out to lick the wound. It took nearly every ounce of willpower Tony possessed not to move his hands forward, even as his heart raced. “You know my story,” Loki said. One of his hands brushed down Tony’s spine and hooked into the waistband of not just his plaid pj bottoms, but his boxer briefs, as well. “So you know precisely why I need to do this.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony contradicted woozily. Only a few thin layers of fabric separated him from utopia, a few layers easily shed, and then— “I just know it’s kinda thrown a wrench in all of my plans for us.”

The teeth clamped down hard, and Tony yelped with pain. He shoved Loki away, and the Asgardian’s fingers left scratches behind. They burned and swelled almost immediately into long, parallel welts on his back. The throbbing desire in Tony’s veins crescendoed. He staggered backwards to try and regain some semblance of clarity. Loki’s eyes mirrored his hunger, but there was something behind them, something...hidden. A darkness that he’d never noticed before. His mind raced, and it suddenly all clicked. “You’re just here for revenge.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki at least had the decency to look confused.

It wasn’t enough, though. “Actually, I’m really pissed off right now. You’re only here for revenge, and you don’t give a damn about having a real relationship with me, do you?”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest, and his voice was icy. “I came to you and told you what transpired between that oaf who calls himself my brother and me. You’ve known me long enough that you should have suspected that this would be the logical result. Of  _ course _ I want revenge, Anthony. I crave it as I crave oxygen and—” He caught the look in Tony’s eye and stopped.

The alarm on Tony’s watch trilled. “You’d better get in your cage if you don’t want to get caught,” he muttered stiffly. He turned and left the room.

Later, Tony would be immensely proud of himself that he didn’t let slip a single tear until he was safely back in his room, door shut firmly behind him. Once that one fell, though, he could no longer hold back the deluge. He buried his face in his pillow and wept. 


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce stood before one of the glass dry-erase boards in the Helicarrier’s laboratory, a bowl of Crunch Berries cupped in one broad palm. He munched thoughtfully while staring at the equation written on it. If he was reading it right, it had to do with the trajectory of small birds—a comparison of mass and potential flight path given specific carrying capacity. He switched the bowl to his other hand, picked up one of the markers, and plugged in a random value to determine the legitimacy of the equation the mathematician before him had written.

Just as his watch chimed 11:30, the door to the lab slid open. A haggard-faced and hollow-eyed Tony stumbled in. His rumpled clothes hung on him like he’d just thrown on whatever, and he was in slippers instead of actual shoes. “Everything okay?” Bruce asked tentatively as Tony slumped against the wall. 

Tony made a noncommittal noise and rubbed his forehead. His eyes lit on the bowl of cereal in Bruce’s hand. Bruce followed his gaze, then held out the bowl. Tony snatched it and began shoveling food in his mouth. Bruce watched, a strange mixture of fascination and horror on his face as Tony slurped down the sugary, gray milk. The spoon rattled against the porcelain rim when he put it on the counter.

“Better?”

The billionaire nodded, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “Thanks.”

“Want to talk about it...whatever it is?”

“No.” Tony crossed his arms. “But you wanted to talk, didn’t you? Go for it.”

Bruce capped the marker. “Right. Um, you mentioned the job yesterday. Working for you in Stark Tower? Can you tell me more about it?”

“Eh. Not much more to tell. Competitive salary. Basically tell me what you think is fair. It’s right in downtown, so the commute shouldn’t be too awful. I’m sure there’s some stops right nearby. Alternately, some of the floors aren’t claimed yet. I could probably snag one, have it converted into apartments. You could take your pick and figure out the layout or whatever.” He seemed like he was about to say something else; from the quirk of his lips, Bruce wondered what it might be. Before he could ask, though, Tony continued, “Beyond that, the benefits are fair. Full healthcare. You’re a doctor, so that might not mean as much to you, but you’d have dental and vision. Retirement plan, if you ever get sick of it and want to retire.”

“I can’t imagine that being a thing.” He swallowed back a blush, glad for the impact of the Indian sun on his olive complexion. A future spent working with one of his idols, living in the same building.  _ Who knows what that could lead to in the future?  _ The giddy fanboy in his head hopped up and down until it noticed the Other Guy glaring from the opposite corner. It stopped squealing, and Bruce blinked, realizing that Tony was still talking.

“...And there’s this other project I’ve got in mind, reverse engineering some of the tech I’ve run across from Hammer, now that he’s pretty much off the field. If you’d rather, I could set you up with that. See what you think. You’re more of a bio guy, though, so the first thing would probably be more up your alley.”

“Um, yeah, sounds good. I mean, if you don’t mind me working for you or whatever. I’ve got a handle on myself, I think. I shouldn’t destroy the your place.”

“I believe you.” Tony straightened and walked over. He examined the whiteboard, chewing on his lower lip. He stood so close to Bruce that the inner fanboy started dancing wildly; the smell of sleep wafted from the back of Tony’s neck. It was intoxicating. Tony picked up the marker and made a few quick marks on the board. “There. That should fix your equation. Need to divide by the constant or else it’ll come out as a fraction.”

“Huh?” Bruce shook his head and read the board. “Oh, yeah. It wasn’t my work, though. I was just checking it for someone else.”

“Oh.” Tony capped the pen and tossed it on the counter. “Whatever, then.” 

There was a kind of deadness to his voice that tugged at Bruce’s heart, and he clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to grab Tony’s hand. Instead, he said, “It’s almost lunchtime. I know that cereal wasn’t much. Want to go down to the cafeteria with me, see what we can find?”

“Meh. I might be back later. I’m gonna go try to get more sleep. Let me know if anything happens.” He walked out of the room.

The slump of his shoulders and anxiety in his eyes were so familiar to Bruce that they tugged at something primal inside him. It was all he could do not to chase after, tackle Tony from behind, and demand to know what was going on in his head. But he just stood there, watching, as the door slid shut with a click.


	6. Chapter 6

Sun streamed in through the picture window at one end of the studio apartment. Beyond the dirt crusting the glass lay the skyline of Chicago, hazy in the morning light and smog. Cars honked along the nearby highway, but the glimpse of Lake Michigan in the distance almost made the noise worth it. Tony stood in front of the window, the pair of boxers clinging to his hips the only thing keeping him from flashing anyone looking out from across the way. His limbs felt extraordinarily light. It was uncommon for him to wake with his mind quiet. Pleasant.

Footsteps on the creaking wooden floor behind him stole his attention, and in the reflection of the glass he saw Loki walking up. His alabaster skin emphasized eyes rimmed with dark lashes and the cheekbones sharper than diamonds. Black hair, tousled from bed, swept his shoulders from his widow’s peak. Like Tony, he was bare-chested; unlike him, he had a loincloth-like garment in place of true underpants. Loki stepped forward and brushed a few kisses on Tony’s muscular shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning,” Tony replied, the heat of Loki’s breath stirring his blood. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

Loki chuckled and slid his arms around Tony’s waist. “It’s midnight on Asgard right now.”

“I don’t believe you.” Even so, he leaned back into Loki’s embrace. “And if it is, shouldn’t you still be carousing or wenching or whatever it is you do out there?”

“Would you rather I was?” He ground his hips against Tony’s backside. The growing excitement matched his own.

Tony shook his head, turning it to meet Loki’s mouth. They kissed, long and deep and hard, only coming up for air when the beeping of Tony’s watch reminded them that, no matter what time it might be elsewhere, it was firmly morning now. Reluctantly, Tony broke the kiss and stepped away.

Loki watched him, disappointment a brief flicker in his eyes. “What is it?”

“I’m supposed to be at that convention in an hour. I should’ve been there an hour ago, actually.”

“We were a bit busy an hour ago,” Loki replied, grinning slyly.

“That’s what I get for talking to strangers in the hotel bar, I guess.”

“And letting said stranger take you to no fewer than three other bars before bringing you back to his place, hmm?”

“Right. You’d think I’d know better.” Loki’s lips were tempting, but Tony forced his eyes away. He scanned the tiny apartment, looking for his clothes. They lay a trail from the steel door to the rumpled futon that served as a bed, which a few flung over the chrome-finished dinette chairs for good measure. Sighing, he began to gather his things.

Dark eyes followed him as he did so. “Won’t you at least stay for breakfast? A bit of food won’t hurt.”

“No, thanks. I make a point of not eating where I sleep.” Tony tugged on his white tee and looked around for his dress shirt.

“Sounds lonely,” Loki commented, leaning against the kitchen counter. He folded his arms over his chest, the tenting of his loincloth in plain sight. “Hungry, too.”

“Eh, I’ll grab a bagel or something on the way home,” he replied. He fumbled with the buttons; the bone discs were reluctant to go through the slits in the silk. There were a few wrinkles in the fabric, but he was known for a certain amount of disrepair. It added to his Devil-may-care mystique, he felt. He flashed a grin at Loki. “Besides, it prevents some of the attachment.”

“Nothing wrong with that, I suppose,” Loki said. He turned and grabbed a bowl from the drying rack, then opened a cupboard. Glancing at the shelf the only thing Tony could see there was a box of Cocoa Krispies and a couple of cobwebs. His stomach rumbled as the sugary cereal pinged against the ceramic, a few jumping to the floor in one last, desperate bid for escape. Loki left the box open on the counter and pulled a quart of milk from the fridge, half-full. He drowned his breakfast in it, then pulled a plastic spoon from a box by the sink. The stomach grumbles intensified as he watched the spoon rise, heaping with Krispies, and disappear behind catlike lips.

It was all Tony could do to tear his gaze away and search for his pants.

The cereal crunching made his mouth water.

Loki made a sort of low moan of pleasure as he scooped up another spoonful.

Tony shook his head, laughing ruefully as his resolve crumbled. “All right, all right. One bowl won’t hurt.”

“But I thought you never dined with those you bedded?” came Loki’s lofty reply. Arch though his voice was, his eyes twinkled with humor.

“I think I can make an exception this one time.” Tony grabbed the box and slid past Loki to get a bowl. The scent of sugar and milk wafted to him, blending with the musk of sleep and something spicy and cold; the Asgardian’s natural perfume. Tony’s heart sped up. He knew it, deep in his bones, that he wouldn’t be making it to the convention that day. Stane would be pissed, but he’d just have to deal.

Here, in this cubbyhole of a studio in Chicago, Tony had found a place he’d rather be.


	7. Chapter 7

The rapping of knuckles on his door yanked Tony from sleep, and he rubbed the crusts from his eyes. Nothing seemed real; there was no window in his room to help him figure out what time it was. His watch told him it was mid-afternoon. He genuinely felt like he’d been out cold for a year.

As the dream-memory in his head faded and the previous evening’s loss assaulted him, he wished for nothing more than a return to sleep’s oblivion.

The rapping paused, then continued. “Coming,” he grumped. He didn’t bother to pull his shirt on. His jeans hung from his hips with remarkable tenacity. That’d have to be enough for whatever idiot was waking him up. If they didn’t like it, then they were welcome to eat a big, fat, juicy dick. Hell, he might even be willing to provide them with one.

The angry words on his lips died when he opened the door to reveal Bruce standing there. The smaller scientist held a plate in his hand, a neatly-prepared trio of sandwiches arranged on it. In his other hand was a to-go cup of what appeared to be lemonade, and a bag of extra-crispy sea salt and vinegar chips was tucked under his elbow. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but…”

“Whatever.” Tony stood aside to allow Bruce in. He entered, his cheeks blazing as he averted his eyes from Tony’s naked torso. A flash of irritation at this fired in Tony’s brain, but it was replaced almost immediately by surprise. He wasn’t used to being actively not-looked-at. Most people in Bruce’s situation would have been staring, if not leering. Lo—even his lovers had been known to watch Tony doing the mundane half-naked.   _ Who is this person?  _

Bruce set his offerings on the desk, pushing aside a rumpled shirt. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but you offered me blueberries the other day, so I figured something healthy. Turkey, swiss, lettuce, and tomato on whole wheat. But then, I wasn’t sure if you were vegetarian or anything, so I made a spinach wrap with avocado slices, onion, tomato, and red cabbage. But you also ate that cereal this morning, so I made a peanut butter sandwich with strawberry preserves on white bread.” Bruce looked at the ceiling. “There’s lemonade there in the cup, and I didn’t know what kind of chips you liked, but I figured if you wanted them, those would be good. They’re my favorite, at least.”

Tony took a few steps forward and examined the plate. “You made these?” He’d even cut the crusts off the peanut butter and jelly. He picked up a triangular slice and took a bite. It was something close to the most delicious food he’d ever eaten. The rest of it was crammed into his mouth, and he chewed forever until he could swallow.

“They’re just sandwiches,” replied Bruce, his eyes narrowed. “It’s not like I cooked you a steak or something.”

“Could you?” Tony took a long swig of lemonade to wash the rest of the pbj down. He picked up one of the halves of turkey sandwich and took a more modest bite. “I mean, can you?”

Bruce shrugged. “Cooking’s really not that hard. Just follow the directions. And these are sandwiches.” He paused. “Have you really never made a sandwich before?”

A strange emotion nibbled at his chest, and he took another sip from the cup. “Never needed to. There was always someone around to ask.”  _ Shame?  _ he thought, looking for a definition. Noting the dismay on Bruce’s face, he decided that shame was definitely the emotion he felt. It was new, this shame. He knew full-well he was well-off, but he’d never minded. Admitting that he couldn’t even do something so basic as make a sandwich wasn’t just embarrassing. It was  _ shameful. _

Bruce, though, just shrugged and carefully stared past Tony at the wall behind them. “I can show you sometime. If you want, I mean. It’s not that hard. Even if it was, I’m sure you’d be able to figure it out. You’re not stupid. I mean, of course you’re not stupid. You’re a genius, but, like a tech genius. Not necessarily a life-genius. Living life, though. You know how to keep yourself alive.” 

Tony watched with amusement as Bruce’s cheeks lit up like Christmas lights. It was kind of adorable. “I do, at least in terms of not dying in a fight,” he said around another bite. “But apparently I’m not so good at the day-to-day, practical application stuff.”

“No, you’re really not. At all.”

The words stung, but Tony kept his tone light. “So what’ll I need to fix?”

“Well, feeding yourself, for one. You’ve probably never even seen the inside of a grocery store. Heck, you probably don’t even know what ingredients are needed to make what food. And then there’s basic neatness. Clothes go in the closet or drawers if they’re clean or in a hamper if they’re dirty. Once they’re washed, they’re folded neatly and put away. Things that need ironing get ironed.”

“Ironic,” joked Tony to mask the ire rising in his chest. He put down the rest of the sandwich and crossed his arms over his chest. “Anything else?”

“You could probably use a bath. I can smell you from here.”

Tony thought he saw red for a second, and he balled his fists at his sides. “Go away.”

“Huh?” Bruce shifted to move closer, but Tony pointed at the door. “Leave. Go. Now.”

Bruce turned and walked out, silent. 

For a long, long moment, Tony struggled to regain his calm. Everything he’d been through recently—the attack on Stuttgart, the shit with Loki—all of it. The last thing he needed now was some little prick scientist telling him he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t some peasant. If he had people to do things for him, then that just meant that there was less he had to do himself. He had more time for important shit, like, say,  _ saving the fucking world _ . He took a deep breath and grabbed a piece of remaining sandwich. He stuffed half of it in his mouth and chomped. The avocado was perfectly creamy and the cabbage was crisp, but he couldn’t tell if the sting in his eyes was from the onion or the emotions roiling in his head. His eyes landed on the laundry Bruce had shoved aside.

He placed the sandwich back on the plate, picked up the clothes, and began to fold.


End file.
